MotoX
by Usher
Summary: 1st Chapter - The Tracys find out what Alan's new hobby is and are not amused. 2nd Chapter - 6 years later, the story continues. 3rd Chapter, a sort of flashback...
1. MotoX

Jefferson Anderson Tracy, head of Tracy Industries tapped his pen against the report he was supposed to be reviewing. Instead, he was lost in a daydream, staring at a photograph sitting to his left. One of many, it showed him and his youngest son Alan, both with blackened faces, laughing hard. It had been taken only three months before, in the garage of the Townhouse in Boston. The wing of Gordon's car could just be seen behind them, and Jeff smiled when he remembered how the simple task of doing an oil change had suddenly turned into a farce. Jeff had painstakingly talked him through the process, only to have Alan give him a cocky smile with a raised eyebrow and slide down under the jacked up car. Before he knew it, Alan had drained the oil, taken out the filter and begun to fit the new one. Jeff had pulled him out and demanded an explanation. In a gesture of frustration, Alan had swept his hand across his forehead and through his hair, completely forgetting the black crud that was stuck to the surgical glove he was wearing. When Jeff had stopped laughing, Alan had wiped one finger down the side of his father's cheek. Five minutes later, Virgil had come down to find out what the noise was, only to find his father holding his baby brother in a headlock, the two of them laughing uncontrollably. A flash of light had brought the both of them back to earth, and they looked up to see a camera in Virgil's hand.

"Hey dad, what are you up to?" Scott asked as he wandered into his father's large office. He realised what his father was staring at and shook his head ruefully. The sixteen year old had turned out to be better at car maintenance than the rest of them.

"Just day dreaming, Scott. I should be getting on with these reports." He glanced down at the paper and rolled his eyes upwards, placing the pen down. "You?"

"The same." He held up a sheaf of paper and waved it up and down. "But I'm done for the day. I'm going to head downstairs and catch some TV, I think."

He hid his smile as he watched the invisible cogs turn in his father's brain, the devil on his shoulder waging war with the angel, telling him to join his son. After a few moments, it appeared that the devil had won it's war and he stood and joined his eldest, walking down towards the TV room.

Virgil and Gordon were already there, Gordon stretched out on the floor by his older brother's feet, engrossed in the magazine he was flicking through.

"Are either of you watching this?" Scott asked, picking up the remote. Virgil nodded, taking it back.

"I am. Turn it and you die."

"What is it?" Virgil flushed when he heard his father's voice, fearing a tongue lashing for threatening his older brother. "It's the new under 18's motocross rally. 250cc motorbikes. It's only on for a half hour. Then you can watch whatever you want." Virgil reminded him.

Jeff however, was watching Gordon. His second youngest son had let the magazine close and was staring at the tv intently.

"Gordon, is there something you would like to share?"

Gordon didn't seem to have heard his father, but fumbled behind him for the remote, grabbing it and turning the volume up.

/This is James Ducky reporting from the 1st Wharton Mountain SuperMotoX Off-Road Rally. As you can see in the distance behind me, we are on the grounds of the Wharton Academy who have graciously allowed the use of their woods for this event. Over past six hours, we have been watching and observing what seems to be the newest up and coming scramblers and riders in this under 18's event. The age limit, of course, has been upped to 16, so most of the competitors in this event are pretty evenly matched in skills and experience and this may prove to give us a nail-biting finish. First up today was a newcomer to this event, one of Wharton's students, replacing Dick Mathews who has pulled out with a broken wrist. Alan Tracy, 16, on what I have been told is his year's shop project, a bike they have built from scratch. He is the Wharton representative in this event./ The commentator disappeared and Jeff's jaw dropped open as the screen showed his youngest son tugging on a helmet before gunning the engine and taking off down the track sending a hail of mud and gravel behind him.

"Dad…"

"I know, Scott."

"But dad-"

"I _know_ Virgil!"

In the silence that followed while the Tracy men were staring at the TV in shock while Alan completed the first part of the time-trail rally, Gordon was quietly texting Alan.

Lying back in a bath of steaming hot water, Alan blinked tiredly at his phone. **HEAD 4 THE HILLS. GRDO**

He sat up quickly, sending a stream of water over the side of the bath. No. They couldn't have…

**WHY?**

Gordon raised an eyebrow and shook his head, texting back **motox ring a bell? Watching u now. U r so dead.**

Alan banged his head against the back of the bath and sighed heavily. This was so not good.

**Crap.**

Gordon snorted and slipped the phone back into his pocket, ignoring the stare Scott gave him. "You warned him?"

Gordon grinned, looking back at the tv. "Just giving him a sporting chance. Woah." He fell silent as Alan's bike skidded wildly on a patch of gravel and the back end began to fish-tail. From what they could see, Alan quickly got it back under control and sped on up the narrow mud trail.

/And that was a skilful manouver from this unknown teenager. While he is currently 3 seconds behind the leader, putting him in 4th place, this is definitely one rider we will have to keep an eye on/

"We'll all be keeping an eye on him." Jeff muttered darkly, sitting down beside Virgil. "Gordon, give me your phone."

Sensing what his father was going to do, Gordon hesitated, but catching the look on his face, he fished it out of his pocket and handed it over.

**What were u thinking?**

Alan grimaced and dropped his towel, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror.

**Built bike 4 shop. Teacher wanted me to try it out. Told me he'd entred me this morning after dk broke wrist falling out of bed. Had no choice. Did good tho. Got 2nd. Gonna ask commander if I can do this agin. Bruises will fade.**

"Uh, dad…"

/And that was a nasty spill taken on the last corner by Tracy. Amazingly enough, he skidded past the Gate, and has been placed 2nd. With three other competitors left to go, it looks like Montenegro is set to romp hom-"

Jeff looked back at the phone and hit reply. **Alan, ths is cmmndr. over my dead body. And tell your shop teacher to expect me in person tomorrow.**

* * *

Alan sat on the front steps to the red bricked school, rubbing his face tiredly. It was still early morning but he knew his father's flight had gotten in at least an hour before. That meant that he would be arriving any minute.

"Mr. Tracy, you are up quite early this morning!" James Joeseph, the headmaster announced, as he clambered out of his car.

Alan grimaced. "Uh, yes, sir. My father is coming, sir. I thought I had better be here to…um…try to calm him down before he reaches either you or Mr. Monk."

James froze. "This is about yesterday?"

Alan nodded and James suddenly wished that he was anywhere else. At the bottom of a deep shaft on the moon…yeah…that was a good place to hide. Letting out a loud sigh, he sat down on the steps beside Alan and shook his head.

"This is going to be worse than a detention, isn't it."

Alan turned his head and looked at the headmaster with an odd look in his eyes. "You have no idea, sir. No idea."


	2. MotoGP

**Sorry it took so long, but the counterpoint to my first chapter is below. I know it's short, and I know that it could have been made longer…who knows, I might make a longer series out of it at some point – but who am I kidding? I'm better at one-shots. Well, anyhow, I hope you enjoy it. **

**The 'cunning' quotes at the end is from Blackadder, one of the greatest series ever made in my opinion. I just had to work it in!**

Jeff sat in a chair by the huge floor to ceiling high window staring out into the distance. His arms were folded tightly across his chest as his foot tapped nervously on the ground. A fact that was a great source of amusement for Scott as he watched his father.

"Dad…you are doing it again." It was all he could do to keep the smile from his face as his father's forehead creased in a frown.

"Doing what?"

"Tapping your foot. Seriously, you are worse than Virgil when something's about to happen. He'll be fine, dad."

Jeff gave an apologetic grimace and stopped tapping his foot, only to stand up and begin to pace again. "I should have gone down to there with your brothers. At least I could do something."

Scott lost his battle with his face and immediately smiled. "No. You are not going down there. We all agreed, and Dan Kumar insisted. You are not allowed near the Pits."

Jeff rolled his eyes and leant against the closed door leading out onto the private balcony overlooking the finishing line. "It's a stupid request. What would I have done?"

Deadpan, Scott replied, "I don't know? Start messing with the torque? Telling the _trained_ Pitt crews what to do? Interfering with Dan and Al's race strategy?"

Jeff opened his mouth to protest, but knew defeat when he saw it. "You ask an engineer _one_ question and you get blacklisted for life!" he grumbled, taking the champagne flute Scott offered.

"No, dad. You badger the engineer for fifteen minutes just before a race. Then you badger Dan during the race. You stay here and you be good and they just _might_ allow you near the Pits next season."

Jeff shook his head. "There isn't going to be a next season, Scott."

His oldest son frowned and stepped closer. "What?"

"Well, Alan has decided that this is his last race. He talked it over with Dan. He wants to finish his studies and then concentrate on the 'family business'. Dan said he understood, but he wasn't too happy about it. So, Alan is announcing his retirement after this race. I hope he wins. It would be good to go out on a high."

Scott shared his father's sad smile and nodded in agreement. He just wished Alan had told him that he was going to quit racing.

"Wow. But as for winning the race, even if he doesn't finish he's so many points ahead it won't matter. Still, it would be nice. How do you think the Bike will hold up?" he regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.

Jeff's jaw tightened and his shoulders hunched up slightly in annoyance. "I wouldn't know, would I. Seeing as how I'm not allowed into the Pits."

Scott turned away, trying desperately not to laugh at his father's annoyance and almost sighed with relief when Gordon appeared in the doorway.

"Hi guys, Al says hi. Scott, he wants to talk with you before the race. He says its important."

Scott nodded, putting down his glass. "I'll bet I have an idea about what."

Gordon looked at him suspiciously but let the matter rest as his eldest brother hurried out the door. "You told him?" He asked accusingly.

Jeff nodded. "I did. I didn't want it to be a shock when Alan announced it later. I assume Alan's told the others."

Gordon snagged a glass of orange juice and nodded. "Yeah, he and Dan had a little impromptu meeting down there and they told the pit crew what was going down after. Alan told us just before. Of course, I already knew, but Virg was a bit shook up. Does John know?"

Jeff smiled and let Gordon duck under his arm as they walked to the tinted glass looking down at the sun drenched Qatar track. "He knows. We told him last night seeing as how he'd be watching the race from his Lab." Automatically two sets of eyes flicked upwards to look at the sky where Thunderbird 5 was in silent orbit.

After a long period of silence, Gordon twisted his head around to look at his father. "Don't dad."

Jeff's forehead creased and he gave a half smile, wondering what Gordon was thinking he was thinking. "Don't what, son?"

"Don't wonder if you are keeping Alan from a career he'd be good at. He wants to be part of the family business, just as much as I do. I don't regret giving up swimming, I don't regret giving up the WASPs, just as much as Scott doesn't regret giving up the Air Force. I can still swim as much as I want to. Virgil can paint and compose wherever he is or whatever is going on. John has his stars, and he's probably happier where he is right now than he'd ever be stuck in an observatory somewhere. Scott can fly the 'jet' until the cows come home, and it's faster than anything he'd ever get his hands on in the Air Force. And Alan, well, he's gonna drive fast no matter what. Be it a bike, car, Penny's Limo or a go-kart. We are our own people, and no matter how much you like to think it, you aren't the boss of us. If we wanted out, we'd get out and there wouldn't be a thing you could do about it short of locking down the island and burning the boats. And sooner or later, we'd find a way. We're industrious people when we put our minds to it. Besides, I'm sure Brains would help. He doesn't like Slave Labour."

Jeff laughed ruefully and pulled his son close giving him a hug. "Thanks Gordon. John said pretty much the same thing last night. As did Alan when he told me. I guess I just need some reminding. And by the way, John said that Penny would always help break you out if you needed it. She's not as loyal to me as she seems."

For all the light words, Gordon could feel the tightness of his fathers grip and knew that his father was still worrying. "Remember when we were watching Alan doing the MotoX race and you nearly burst a blood vessel trying to get to Wharton to kill him?"

Jeff's mouth twisted in an effort not to smile, failing miserably. Seeing his father nod, Gordon continued, "Did you ever think that you'd be standing here?"

Jeff shook his head. "No, I honestly didn't. I could have wrung his neck when I found out he was still racing six months later…."

Gordon sniggered and shook his head. "Dad, I hate to remind you but you actually started to…at least, your hands were around his neck when you got your hands on him."

Jeff blushed slightly in embarrassment and the nodded. "At least all you wanted to do was swim. Though finding you skinny dipping in Mrs Achin's pool with Debbie McGee wasn't easy either."

"I'm betting finding Scott crop dusting wasn't exactly a walk in the park either." Gordon murmured.

"Or Virgil going missing in New York…though you were only little then, of course. Alan wasn't even born. I doubt you remember. He wanted to see an exhibit and your mother had grounded him. I never felt so tempted to smack one of you as I did that day."

"So John's the only one who hasn't added to your grey hairs?" Gordon asked, surprised. Jeff thought hard for a minute and then slowly shook his head.  
"No. John's had his moments too. When he was 11, there was a comet. I forget its name right now, but John was adamant he had to see it. Your mother was visiting with her parents and your Grandmother was visiting friends and I had the four of you on my own. I couldn't bring you all out, so I said no. I got up in the middle of the night and realised he wasn't in his bed. I searched the house from top to bottom and there wasn't a sign of him. So I woke Scott and told him to watch the rest of you while I went out and started looking for him out on the grounds of the farm. I was going around the back of the barn when something caught my eye up on the roof of the house. It was John, fast asleep with a blanket around his shoulders. I think that was my first grey hair…no, I tell a lie. It would have been my fifth. Each time one of you were born I gained a new one. Especially with you and Alan. You know, there's nothing like being up in space and hearing that your firstborn has made his arrival to scare you half to death."

"What's scary?" Virgil asked, walking into the box.

"Scott." Gordon replied impishly. "How's Alan doing now?"

Virgil snagged a glass of champagne and shrugged. "Unreadable as usual. He's suited up and getting ready. We were starting to get in the way so we came back. He wanted to talk to Scott for a minute, but I'd say that's about all Fly Boy will get with him."

Scott arrived less than five minutes later, confirming Virgil's words, and the four of them settled down to wait for the race to start.

"Pity he's not in poll position." Gordon muttered seeing his little brother's bike directed into the 5th place spot. "I hope it's not an omen."

"Shut up Gordon. I swear, if you jinx him I'll drown you." Scott muttered darkly, raising an eyebrow at the red-head. Gordon made a face at him and grabbed the binoculars from his brothers lap, looking down at the crowd.

"Alright boys, easy." Jeff ordered, swiftly stopping any fight that was about to start. "No one is to mention positions, race leaders, points, weather, tyres, bike specs, luck or drivers until the race is over. I will have no accusations of jinxes flying about. This is Alan's day and this race will be down to pure skill, not luck."

"Amen to that." Virgil muttered as the excess people at the start line began to filter away and the riders put on their helmets and made some last minute adjustments to their leathers. "Come on, let's go out and watch."

Jeff shook his head, staying seated where he was, but the other three opened the door and stepped out into the hot desert sun just as the race began.

"Go Alan!" Gordon muttered under his breath, following his brother's bike as it weaved through the riders on the first bend, making up two positions before he'd even cleared the turn. Everyone in the stands let out an 'ooooh' as two bikes collided, sending each other spinning off into the gravel. One rider managed to get his bike back up, and tried to get it out of the gravel, only to have the heavy carcass fall back down and the engine cut out.

"Not a happy bunny." Virgil muttered, seeing him raise his fists in anger and kick a spray of gravel at the helpless bike. The second rider sat up and he could see him shaking his head in disappointment.

"That's DeVilliea and Savelsbergh out." Scott commented as he turned his attention to the huge screens showing the rest of the riders making their way around the track. "Where is he now?"

"Holding third." Gordon muttered, lifting the binoculars up to his eyes again. "Bike's looking good though." He and the others fell silent, watching their baby brother make his way through the last laps of his racing career. Finally Gordon shook his head and pushed the binoculars against Scott's chest. "I can't take this any more. I'm going down to the finish line. I want to see him pass it…I want to be there when he wins."

Scott watched Gordon disappear back inside and shared a look with Virgil. Both of them gave a wicked smile and dashed inside, throwing the binoculars onto one of the chairs.

"Where are you lot going?" Jeff shouted at their retreating backs.

"Gonna go down and watch him win dad!" Scott called over his shoulder. He wasn't surprised when he reached the railing that his father was right behind him. They were about thirty feet from the finish line but could see it perfectly from their spot.

"Shut up Scott." He muttered, gripping the metal with both hands. "He's going to do it, isn't he?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know dad. He's in third position, and he's managed to hold it for the last thirty or so laps and he's got what, two left? If he can pull a Valentino Rossi on the corners, he'll get into first…but Brash and Assay are both pretty good riders…" as he spoke, Brash and Assay approached the line, and the front of Assay's bike clashed with the back of Brash's. The back wheel skewed away and Brash crashed down onto the tarmac, his bike sliding another 20 feet before coming to a stop, littering the tarmac with debris. Brash curled up into a ball as Alan thundered by him, covering his head with his arms. When the sound of engines died down, he clambered to his feet and tugged off his helmet, firming his lips in a grimace.

"Another not a happy bunny." Gordon murmured as men raced onto the track to clear it before the race leaders reached the position again.

"Last lap boys." Jeff's face was white with tension and he stood between Scott and Virgil, his hands gripping their shoulders tightly. "He's caught up with Assay."

Gordon bounced up and down on the balls of his feet excitedly as the two bikes came round the bend neck and neck. "Come on Alan!" He shouted, finally venting the pressure that was building in his chest at the excitement. "Come on Sprout!"

"Come on My Son, Come ON!" Jeff finally yelled, pounding his hand on the railing.

Above on Thunderbird 5, John watched the screen as one of the cameras showed a brief shot of his father and brothers egging Alan on and he grinned as the shot flicked back to Alan edging past Assay.

"Come on Alan." He murmured quietly, his eyes fixed on the red helmet.

"Come on Alan." Scott breathed softly seeing Alan's bike edge past Assay as he opened the throttle as far as it would go. First by an inch, and then another inch until finally he was a bike's length past Assay as he crossed the line.

Pounding each other on the back, they turned back to the track just as Alan's tyre touched a small piece of debris that had been missed by the clean-up crew. After 34 laps the hot rubber had worn through, becoming weak, and the tiny piece of fibreglass ripped through it like a knife through hot butter. The front wheel jerked in his grip as the tyre blew, throwing him off balance and sending him crashing down, the heavy bike landing on top of him as he sailed down the tarmac.

Scott was over the railing before Alan had even stopped, sprinting across the hard ground with Jeff close on his heels, Gordon and Virgil bringing up the rear to get to him before the rest of the bikes crossed the line. Thankfully Alan's trajectory brought him up against the crash barrier, out of the way of his fellow competitors and when he finally came to a stop he kept still as the runners up passed him.

"Alan!" Jeff and Scott came to a skidding stop on the tarmac and quickly wrestled the heavy machine from his legs. "Don't move! You might be injured."

Alan shook his head and levered off the helmet revealing sweat darkened blonde hair in a frighteningly pale face. "I'm ok dad." He panted as he carefully tested each limb. "Everything's ok. I won. Do you hear that? I won!" the adrenalin pumping through his veins had dulled the sound around him, but the growing cheers of the spectators was becoming more apparent, making him grin. "I did win, didn't I?"

Scott nodded grudgingly and gripped the back of his neck tightly. "Yeah, Sprout. You won. Come on, let's see if you can stand."

Jeff was about to protest but fell silent. Alan was old enough and bright enough to speak out if he was injured. Slowly, they got to their feet as the crowd and his brothers anxiously watched on, and though he hunched over slightly thanks to the leathers, he only had a slight limp as he walked away from the trashed bike. As Dan's retrieval crew passed he patted them on the shoulders, returning their grins. He'd won the race. He'd won the championship.

Standing on the top step of the podium, he took the bottle of Champagne he'd been handed and let a sly grin cross his face. Immediately behind the barrier, Gordon was busy staring at one of the Rizla Suzuki girls, trying to get her number. Spotting the look on his face, Scott tried to suppress a grin and nodded, stepping smartly out of the way as Assay and Tandon helped him down onto the ground and quickly got out of the firing line. Sticking his thumb firmly on the cork the bottle got a good shake before the cork was popped and the neck of the bottle was shoved down his brothers back between his t-shirt and skin.

"Alan!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, he was seated in front of a dozen or so microphones with camera lenses trained on his face.

Dan clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down beside him and leaned close to his ear. "You sure you want to do this?" He whispered. "Last chance…"

Alan shook his head and gripped Dan's hand where it rested on his shoulder. "Sorry man, but it's gotta be done. It was a blast though. Thanks. Thanks for everything."

Turning back to the cameras, Alan indicated that he was ready to speak, but before the inevitable 'are you happy' questions began, he held up his hand for silence.

"I'm gonna make this quick and brief guys. This entire season has been a blast, and I've been blessed with a great organisation behind me. Dan Kumar has been one of the most supportive people you could ever meet. He's been there 24/7 to make sure that this crew was running at peak efficiency. The pit crew are the best in the world bar none. Everyone involved has been great, and I want to wish George Creek good luck with the team next year as I will not be continuing to race. I handed in my resignation last week."

Sitting back, he watched the shocked faces of the camera crews and reporters as his last two sentences sank in.

Finally, one reporter found his voice again and asked "Why?"

Alan shrugged. "Racing has been a big part of my life, and for a very long time. I've worked hard to get to where I am and I've spent a lot of time trying to get here. I'm at the top of my game, but there are more important things to life than driving a bike fast…not that I didn't enjoy it mind you!" He laughed softly. "But I've realised that my life can't just revolve around racing. I want to finish my studies, get my masters degree…I want to work for my families business, so they are the main reasons why I'm leaving. If I hadn't won the race today…if I hadn't won the championship, I'd still be leaving. I've had my fun, but I've also had my last race. So I just want to wish everyone the best for the next season and to thank everyone who supported me and wished me well over the past few years. Thank you."

One reporter's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "Your father really has you and your brothers under his thumb, doesn't he? That's what, the fifth career he's ruined? I mean, your oldest brother had a great career in the Air Force lined up…your brother Virgil is an award winning artist…isn't John a published author of astronomy books? And of course, who could forget your brother Gordon's WASP career and his Olympic win. What has he got on you that makes you all give up illustrious careers for what? A family business?" The man was sneering and some of the other reporters shot him dirty looks for what was an obvious dig at Jeff Tracy and Tracy Industries.

To his credit, Alan merely clenched his fists. "My father has no hold over us, other than the fact that he is our father and he loves us. We all decided to join Tracy Industries on our own. Our father has made it quite clear since we were little boys that he would support us in our decisions in life no matter what…so long as it wasn't illegal or mindlessly stupid. Now, I cannot speak for my brothers, or say for certain exactly why they chose to give up what they were doing, but I can honestly say that I want to finish my education. And I want to join the research and development department of Tracy Enterprises. Over the last few years I've gotten to do some pretty spectacular stuff doing summer work there. I've flown some of the fastest prototype jets that were being developed for the Air Force. A lot of people my age haven't even been in a plane. I love engineering. I helped develop the bike I rode today, and I am looking forward to working on designs for bikes in the future, if I can persuade my dad to look in that direction. And if I can't, then I can work on it in my own time." Leaning forwards, he fixed the reporter with a dark stare. "So, just let me reiterate here. I am leaving. It is my decision. Not my families. In fact, I only told my father last night, and my brothers today." With that, he got to his feet and gave the reporter a menacing grin before looking at the others. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I was fully prepared to carry on with this little conference but your friend over there has seriously annoyed me. So I will bid you all adieu."

He clapped Dan on the shoulder and exited the small room, closing the door quietly behind him as the reporters surrounding the idiot began to round on him.

"Nicely said Al." Gordon slung his arm around his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze, rubbing his knuckles in Alan's scalp. "Myself, I would have punched that asshole. He dogged my Olympic career for months making snide remarks about dad."

Alan smiled serenly and leant his head against his brothers shoulder. "Gordo, right now, I'm so high on adrenalin that I couldn't give a damn what he said. I won. I actually won." They took a few steps down the hallway and suddenly Alan stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, like the sun rising over the horizon, a sly grin began to spread across his face and he gently turned his head to look Gordon in the eye.

"I know that look." Gordon murmured, his eyebrow twitching. "I know that look very well."

"You should do. You've seen it often enough. I have a cunning plan milord."

"Really Alan? A cunning and subtle one?"

"As cunning as a fox that used to be Professor of Cunning at Oxford University, but has moved on and is now working for the UN at the High Commission of International Cunning Planning."

Both of Gordon's eyebrows rose up and he patted his brother on the chest encouragingly. "Does it have something to do with that reporter?"

Alan grinned even more and hustled his brother out towards the parking lot. "I take it you remember how to let the air out of four tyres?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "You are losing your touch bro."

"Gordo, I've got an entire pit crew ready to do my bidding. The tyres are only the beginning. Do you know how quickly an engine can be stripped from a car?"


	3. MotoMemories

**Ok, last chapter for this story…probably. There might be a sequel but I'm not sure. It's a bit Now, Then and Now again, so I hope you can follow it.**

Jeff Tracy turned over in his bed and sighed heavily. He couldn't sleep. It wasn't often he found himself awake in the middle of the night for no good reason. Tonight, it was the roar of a crowd still echoing in his ear, and the remnants of adrenalin still pumping through his veins. The night before it had been butterflies in his stomach and a small hint of worry that niggled at his brain, combined with anticipation of an action packed day. He'd seen the dawn that morning, and he had a funny feeling he'd see it again. If the alarm clock on his bedside table was anything to go by, he definitely would.

Grumbling, he threw aside the light sheets that covered him and padded out of his bedroom on bare feet, stretching the kinks out of his back.

A slight smile crossed his face when he heard the gentle snores coming from Virgil's room. Opening the bedroom door a crack he found his second eldest cocooned in a heavy duvet, the only thing showing was a few spikes of hair. Shaking his head he closed the door firmly. Virgil was the only person he knew, that, when living on a tropical island, even with air conditioning, chose to sleep with the heaviest tog duvet he could find.

Standing back out in the hall, he chose a door at random and pushed it open, slipping inside into the darkness. The smile still hadn't left him, and he stood looking down at his youngest son. Alan wasn't sleeping peacefully. Not by a long shot. The sheets were entwined around his legs, both of which were sporting large bruises that began on the calf and disappeared up beneath his pyjama shorts. Shaking his head, he gently pulled the sheet away and draped it back over Alan's legs, only to watch him kick them away again with a muttered grumble. It seemed his baby had been lying when he'd told him he hadn't been injured in his fall.

Sighing heavily, he lifted a wicker chair from the far end of the room and set it beside the bed, putting his feet up on the mattress and watching the gentle rise and fall of the boy's chest. Of course, he wasn't really a boy any more, but in his father's eyes, he would always be the waist high whirlwind that tore through the house when school was out.

As the cacophony of night time noises came through the window, he turned his attention to the curtains that billowed inward in the breeze.

It had been a night much like this one when he'd gotten the call. They'd just come in from a rescue and were in the middle of a de-brief when the Vid had chirped signalling an incoming call. Glad that he had decided to shower and change before they'd de-briefed, Jeff grimaced at his sons and answered it.

"Jeff Tracy-" He cut off when he saw Professor Joeseph, Alan's Headmaster on the line. "What's happened?"

James licked his lips nervously and shifted in his chair, obviously not wanting to have the forthcoming conversation. "It's about Alan…" He murmured nervously. "I didn't know, I swear. It's a Saturday, and you know the boys over 16 have a lot more freedom on the weekends than the others…Alan went with some of his friends to a MotoX race at about 5 this morning. I swear, Mr. Tracy, if I'd known, I would never have allowed them to go."

Jeff closed his eyes tiredly and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "He raced, didn't he?"

James nodded, lacing his fingers together. "He crashed. He's not too badly knocked up…" His face screwed up and he shifted uncomfortably again. "He has pretty bad road burn. I haven't talked to him yet, but the marshal that phoned said that he is going to be uncomfortable for the next couple of weeks."

He paled when he saw Jeff's face darken, and heard a muttered 'If I have anything to do with it, he'll be more than uncomfortable.' from off screen.

Jeff tore his eyes away from the Vid screen and gave Scott 'the look'. "Scott, you will stay out of this. This is between Alan and myself. Professor Joeseph, expect me in a couple of hours." He turned off the Vid angrily and stood, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm going to kill him. I swear, I'm going to kill him." He muttered, sweeping from the room past a startled Brains. "Dead. So, so dead. I told him…" the words drifted back to his other sons ears and they looked at each other worriedly.

"I think one of us should go with him." Gordon murmured, getting to his feet and looking at the portrait of his only younger brother. Scott nodded, blowing out a long breath.

"You might as well go, Gordon. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Gordon eyed his brother and quirked a smile. "Which one, dad or Alan?"

"Both."

TTTTT

Jeff wasn't happy to see Gordon sitting in the pilots seat, but for once in his life, he didn't pull rank. He was bone tired, and he knew that Gordon was much fresher than the rest of them. With three bruised ribs, the red-haired Tracy had stayed behind in Base Control, monitoring the mission.

"You might as well catch some shut-eye, dad." He instructed as they reached cruising altitude. "Might as well be fresh when you kill Sprout."

Jeff gritted his teeth, but went into the back of Tracy One, flaking out on one of the small beds. But for all his good intentions, he couldn't sleep.

By the time they reached Wharton, Gordon was feeling groggy and Jeff was feeling only slightly more in control of himself. They entered the long driveway just behind an old station wagon, and pulled up outside the main building just as it disgorged a crowd of sixteen and seventeen year old's. The last one to exit was Alan, dressed in only a light t-shirt and what looked to be boxer shorts, a shredded pair of jeans in his hand.

"That looks…painful." Gordon muttered. His little brother was covered in bandages all along his left leg and arm, and there was no visible skin on his back. He turned to look at his father, just in time to see him exit the drivers side and rush towards Alan.

It was only a split second before Jeff had clung Alan up against the side of the car, his hands wrapped around Alan's shoulders and neck.

"You could have been Killed!" Jeff cried out, ignoring the panic in Alan's eyes.

"Dad, let him go!" Gordon grabbed at his father's hands, trying to prize them away from Alan's throat.

"I told you! No racing! It's dangerous!"

"I know dad." Alan gasped, his hands tangling with his fathers as he stood on his toes, trying to alleviate the pressure. "I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me!" His father's face had turned beet red and a vein showed along his forehead. "Your headmaster told me you were racing!"

"Mr. Tracy…" Another set of hands appeared in his view and Jeff's head swung around to glare at the intrusion, only to find one of Alan's friends looking at him worriedly. "He _wasn't_ racing. I promise you. I was the one racing the bike. Alan's been coming with me to races, but I heard you'd forbidden him to race, so he wasn't racing. I'm Dick Mathews. The guy Alan replaced when the race was held here."

Jeff relaxed his hold on Alan's throat, letting him stand properly. "Then how do you explain _this_?" He seethed, gesturing to the bandages.

"That was my fault dad." Alan protested. "Dick was having trouble with the throttle so I sat on the bike while he fiddled with the engine. I wasn't racing, dad."

Jeff drew in a long, tortured breath and glared at his youngest. "What happened?"

"The throttle stuck in high gear and I kinda lost control. I got dragged behind the bike. I'll be ok."

Jeff took in another deep breath and grabbed his uninjured arm, steering him towards the dorm rooms. "You and I will talk about this in private." He muttered, ignoring the looks of dismay Alan's friends wore. Gordon ran his hands through his short cropped hair and followed them slowly, walking beside Mathews.

"Did it really happen that way?" He asked when his father was out of earshot. Dick nodded, chewing at his lip.

"Yeah. Alan really wanted to race, but he knew he couldn't, so he's been helping me whenever he could. If he _had_ been racing, he'da been wearing leathers, and he wouldn't have gotten so badly scraped." Dick shrugged and moved his bag to his other shoulder. "Your dad should really let him race. He's a natural. I've been doing it since I was five. He's only been riding for nine or ten months and he's better than I am. He's better than a lot of the guys out there. I was talking to one of the agents after the Wharton race, and he said quite a few scouts had been tracking Alan through a couple of different races. He said that Alan could easily go pro. The whole enchelada. MotoGP. He even gave me his number to give to Al, but…after your father found out, that was pretty much put paid to, wasn't it."

Gordon nodded sadly and followed him up the steps into the dorms.

He could hear the yelling before he'd even reached the door, and a number of students were clustered outside, listening intently.

One warning look from him sent them all scurrying away and he opened the door expecting to find carnage.

Instead, his father was sitting on the bed while Alan limped up and down the room, ranting at his father, while his father looked at him, dumbfounded.

"-and another thing! Why do you always think that things are my fault! We all know that I didn't blow up the chem. lab in the last school, and yet it's turned into this big family joke. Ok, so I did light the Bunsen burner, but the damned thing was leaking! How the hell was I supposed to know? It's not my fault that it was faulty you know. Or that they asked I go to another school! I'm not an idiot, dad. You didn't want me to race, so I didn't. Even though I'm _good _at it. And I am good at it dad. I'm really, really good. I've had agents hounding me for the last six months that won't take no for an answer. Three are scouts for MotoGP 250cc bikes, which I could start racing now. Another couple are trying to contract me for 2 years time when I hit 18 and can race in the 800cc range. Do you know how amazing that is? For this kind of a sport? And they think I'd be good at it dad. Really good. Out of all the kids racing in this country, and around the world, right now, I have the Fiat Yamaha and Ducati Racing Teams after me. Valentino Rossi used to race for Fiat Yamaha. Can you even understand…" Alan pressed his hands to his head, trying to calm down. He'd started giving out to his dad for embarrassing him in front of his friends and ended up lecturing him instead. And to heap on the shock, his father wasn't arguing back or telling him not to cheek him.

Gordon grabbed a chair and sat out of the firing line, watching as a strange stream of emotions crossed his fathers face.

"That many agents?" He asked finally as Alan dropped down onto a wheeled computer chair and then shot back up as his scrapes and bruises complained.

"Yeah, dad." He fished around in a drawer and came up with a folder of cards and leaflets. He handed it over and went to the window to look out at the gardens below.

Jeff quietly leafed through the folder, reading the hand-written notes and letters asking him to consider their offers. At the back were several unsigned contracts and he settled back on the bed to read them properly. Silently, he handed one over to Gordon and the Olympic Swimmer's eyes widened when he saw what was being offered.

"Jesus, Alan…" He whispered at one point, seeing the sum of money that had been offered. "For riding a motorbike?"

Alan turned with a wry grin and scrubbed at his hair nervously. "How much did you get offered for swimming a couple of lengths, Gordo? Or for those ads they wanted you in? It's really the same kind of thing. In a way. I told'em all I couldn't race. At least, not until I finished school. Fiat Yamaha said that they'd wait as long as they needed, but Ducati got a little restless. They said they need someone straight away. Apparently Sylvain Jorge isn't racing next season and they need a replacement. I have declined. Graciously, of course. But Fiat…" He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down at his feet. "Dad…" His voice was soft and pleading, looking for some help.

Jeff let the plea hang in the air, flicking back through the folder. "I don't know whether to turn you over my knee right now and spank you, or to be proud of you. Right now, the urge to spank you is winning, even though you are too old for that. You know why I don't want you racing. It's too dangerous…"

"Gramma told me that when Grampa was my age, he used to street race cars. And so did you."

Jeff's eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth before he closed his eyes and drew his teeth over his lower lip. Of course his mother had gotten her oar in. For a month after Alan's little spill he'd had her in his ear, reminding him of the things he'd done when he was Alan's age. It figured that she'd been talking to Alan too. "That has nothing to do with-"

"Dad, hear me out, ok? I know you don't want me racing because you think it's dangerous. But in the big-leagues, they have the best safety equipment. Everything there is the best. And they want _me_. Somebody wants me dad, because they think I'm good. Not because I'm Jeff Tracy's son, or Scott Tracy's brother. They don't know I'm your son. They don't even know what you do. They've never even mentioned your name, except that until I'm 18 I'd have to get you to co-sign any contract. All they care about is the fact that I can ride a bike better than the guy next to me. Not that one of my brothers was in the Olympics. Not that one of my brothers is a concert-class pianist. Not that one of my brothers is an expert on the Belajwaski Comet, and has written books on space. Not that my father is one of the most well know men on the planet."

In the silence that followed, Gordon crossed and uncrossed his legs nervously. The tension was palpable. "So, sprout, who would you go with?"

Alan blinked at the question and shrugged. "I'd go with Lillyhammer."

Gordon frowned and flicked back to the team. "I've never heard of them." He muttered, flicking his eye down their brochure again.

"They've only been on the scene the past two years. They've got good backers, so the money's there, but their riders are crap. Nowhere near poll position on _any_ race. They aren't offering the world, but I don't want the world. If I had the choice-" his eyes flicked over to his father before he turned his attention back to Gordon "I'd go for these guys. I could make a difference with the team, and if I did good, then it would be because of my riding, not because I'm riding on the backs of somebody else's work. They have good engineers – two of 'em actually came from the R&D department of Tracy Engineering – working on their bikes."

Gordon blinked when he hit a piece of text he'd missed and softly started laughing. "You'd be riding a Thundercat." He sniggered.

Alan's eyes narrowed and he shrugged. "It's a good bike. New, and it has a few kinks that need to be worked out, but it's still a good bike."

"Kinks like what?" Gordon asked, shifting until he was in a more comfortable position.

"There's been a few problems with the throttle, the cooling system and a couple of other things. Dan Kumar, the team manager, he told me that they hope to have the majority of the problems fixed by next year, or the year after…"

"Which is when you'd be 18. Old enough to race in the MotoGP." Gordon nodded slowly in understanding.

"And when the contract for the guy they have racing for them now will be up. Dan assured me that even if his skill does pick up in the next couple of months, he'll still be out. And if he isn't, there are plans to run a second bike, which would be mine. If he doesn't, they'll scout around for someone else. He said they are looking for fresh talent."

The word talent was filled with pride and two red spots of embarrassment blossomed in his cheeks. Jeff sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. "Alan…"

Alan looked up at him hopefully and watched his father slowly close the folder and tuck it beneath his arm. "I just don't know, Alan. I'm not going to give in this easily. I'll have to think about it. For a long time." His voice was filled with dubiousness, but Alan's heart filled with hope at the fact that his father was even contemplating it. Especially after their last 'discussion' about racing. "Get some clothes on you and we'll go to dinner. And I don't want to hear one word about racing while we're out. In fact-" He stood up and picked up his jacket, slinging it over his arm, "I don't want to hear a word of it from you until I've made my decision. And after I've made my decision, if I say no, I don't want to hear a word. Understand?"

Alan nodded sharply, almost snapping to attention. "Understood, sir."

TTTTT

Scott punched his pillow angrily, turning over in the bed and kicking away the sheets in frustration. Grunting, he punched the pillow again and slammed his head down into it. Damn Alan and his impulsiveness. Why couldn't he just do as he was told for _once_ in his life.

Growling, he sat up and threw the pillow across the room and got out of the bed, picking up the sheets and throwing them back on to the bed. A glance at his watch showed it was 1.10am and he stalked out of his bedroom, nearly colliding with Gordon as he left.

"You and dad are back?" He asked, surprised. He hadn't heard the jet come in and neither father nor brother had contacted any of them to tell them what was going on. Alan could be dead for all he knew. Gordon shook his head.

"Nope. I'm back. Dad is in Indianapolis talking with a Dan Kumar."

Scott blinked and clamped both hands on Gordons shoulders, turning him around and steering him towards the kitchen. "I think I'm gonna need coffee for this one." He mumbled, planting Gordon down onto a chair and grabbing the pot out of the percolator, pouring them both a mug. "What's going on?"

"Okay, One. Alan wasn't racing." Gordon held up his index finger as Scott peered at him dubiously. "Two, Alan has apparently been approached by several top-notch racing teams to ride for them in the big leagues when he comes of age." He raised his middle finger to join his index, enjoying the look of surprise on Scott's face. "And Three – and this is a doozy, Scott, Three is that Dad is actually contemplating letting the little hellion sign up for one of them. Apparently our little brother is actually good. Real good."

"Dad's _what!_" Scott exclaimed loudly, slamming his coffee cup down onto the counter. Gordon nodded proudly.

"Yup. Alan's agreed to abide by his rules –which he's been doing all along. Apparently he was helping one of his mates with a stuck throttle when the bike took off on it's own, dragging him along behind it. You should have seen him Scottie, standing in front of the school wearing nothing but a t-shirt, boxer shorts and bandages. I'd say he's gonna be in pain for a long time."

TTTTT

Jeff watched as the giant of a man paced up and down in front of his chair, waving his hands enthusiastically. Behind the blonde, a video was playing showing a familiar looking rider heading down a course.

"Now, this was before the Wharton Event, of course, but even here you can see his potential. See here." He rewound the tape and pointed Alan out. "Here you can see he's not made the same mistake as Crostov. That kid has talent, but not enough to get him anywhere. The only reason that kid won the race was because his bike was better. And we hope that by the time your son is ready, so will our bike. And then blammo!" He slapped his hands off each other, his eyes lighting up. "Then we'll have them right where we want them! It'll be spectacular! Alan's said that he won't race forever, just a handful of years at the most, but we_ need_ him Mr. Tracy. For as long as we can have him, we need him."

Jeff found himself chuckling at the giant's enthusiasm and belief that his youngest son could be the answer to his prayers. "He is really that good?" He asked dubiously and Dan nodded emphatically.

"That good and better, Mr. Tracy. He's a genius on two wheels. God only knows what he'd do if given the chance. And I hope you'll give him that chance Mr. Tracy. Actually, we're kind of honoured that he's even considering signing with us. I know Ducati and Yamaha have been after him. I even heard a whisper that Honda have been sniffing around, but they haven't gotten the courage to come after him yet. I think they are waiting to see what Berry will do when he reaches the end of his contract. That's one of those things in this business. The contract is the key."

Jeff nodded. A businessman himself, he knew the importance of contracts. And the one they were offering Alan, while not entirely great, wasn't exactly terrible either. More than either of them should expect.

"Mr. Kumar-"

"Dan, call me Dan." The man encouraged him warmly. Jeff nodded.

"And I'm Jeff. Dan I'm just concerned that…is everything ok?"

Dan's pallor had lightened and he sat down heavily, looking at Jeff with what seemed like new eyes. "Jeff…Jeff Tracy? As in…Jeff Tracy. Jeff...-"

"As in Jeff the father of Alan, yes." Jeff confirmed, nodding. "You didn't know."

Dan shook his head and rubbed his face. "This changes things."

"It shouldn't." Jeff blinked when the words came out of his mouth and he blinked with uncertainty.

"But it does. We were looking for an unknown." Dan mused softly, his dreams crashing down around him. "We don't want someone famous."

"Which he isn't. He's just your average sixteen year old kid. Dan, please do not let who his family is affect your need for Alan. Aside from the fact he was an unknown, why exactly do you want to sign him up.

"He's good. He's better than good and he has potential to be great. To be a name uttered alongside Rossi, Stoner, Doohan, Agostini and Daniell."

"Then why should his father's name hold him back. Dan, you've met Alan. How does he seem to you? What kind of a person?"

Dan looked confused but considered the young man he'd met. "He seemed confident. A little cocky at times, a bit shocked that I wanted to talk to him. Proud…"

Jeff nodded with a smile. "That's Alan. Or at least, the Alan he shows to the world. But Alan is also insecure. He's a bright young boy who has grown up in a household of bright young men. All older than him, and all have done things that everyone in the world knows about. Me included. All his life, he's been known as Jeff Tracy's son. Scott Tracy's brother. It's hard on him. Anything he does, scholastically, even athletically, he'll be under his brothers shadow. Compared against them and he's always worried he'll come up second. But not with this. I'll be honest, I wasn't going to let him do this. Even after talking to you. But I can see now how much he needs this. So I am going to ask you to forget about who I am. If Alan is as good as you say he is, then it shouldn't matter."

* * *

Opening his eyes to bright morning sunlight, Alan stretched in the bed and let out a soft groan. His legs were killing him! Nothing like a 500lb bike landing on your legs to make you remember why you weren't supposed to fall off the damned things.

Groaning again, he turned over in the bed and frowned. "Scottie?"

His oldest brother held a finger up to his lips and indicated their sleeping father. Rolling his eyes, Alan slid out of the bed and joined his brother in staring at their father. He'd fallen asleep in the chair and was snoring softly.

"You take his legs, I'll take his head." Scott murmured and Alan nodded in agreement.

"My bed – his is too far and I can't stagger that distance." The blonde added softly, gripping his father ankles and lifted. "For an old guy he sure is heavy." He grunted, letting him down gently and drawing up the sheet he himself had kicked off earlier.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that." Scott laughed, clapping Alan on the shoulder as he tried to pull on a pair of shorts.

"Scott!" Alan hissed, dragging off his the t-shirt he'd slept in and turning to look at his shoulder in the mirror. Scott made an 'oops' face when he saw the large bruise he had just hit and gestured to the door. "Sorry Sprout. C'mon. Onaha's making pancakes in your honour."

In the kitchen, Alan stretched out on the table top and looked at Scott expressionlessly.

"So, how far did you two get with the reporter's engine before he came out?"

A devilish smile crossed Alan's face and he sat back with a laugh. "We got all four tyres off, the engine out and half the exhaust dismantled. You should have seen his face, Scott! And he has no idea who did it! Petra – the Rizzla girl whose number Gordo got, she kept watch while the pit crew worked. We ducked behind some of the transport trucks when he came out and watched him throw a hissy fit."

"Any cameras around?"

Alan shook his head, accepting the plate of pancakes and the kiss on the cheek from Onaha. "Nope, no cameras around. Brash made sure they were all turned off for the Press Car Park. He's a pretty decent guy…for a Yamaha rider."

Scott snorted and sat down in front of him, tucking into his pancakes. "So…hang on, did you just say Gordon got the number of one of the Rizzla girls! Which one?"

"Tall, blonde…luscious – his words, not mine."

Scott's eyes narrowed and his lower lip jutted out in a pout. "She turned me down…"


End file.
